


Learning Curve

by Glishara



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: BDSM, F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glishara/pseuds/Glishara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the multikinkmemes community, for the prompt: Ivan Vorpatril/Donna Vorrutyer, lessons</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

"No," she said sharply, and Ivan felt the stinging tap on his shoulder from the little whip Donna Vorrutyer liked to use as a teaching aid. He flinched: he had braced for the blow on his other shoulder, and she had caught him off-guard. "Shh," she said, her tone low and amused. Her hand stroked his hair, and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Try again,” she said.

Ivan tried again, gingerly: he moistened his lips, opened his eyes to look up at Donna, and then cautiously touched the tip of his tongue against her clitoris. Her eyes closed briefly, then opened again. “Good,” she said. He tried it again, and again. Almost lazily, she licked one fingertip and ran it along the outside edge of his ear. He could feel the wetness, cool in the air, and shivered. He licked her again, gently. Again.

“No,” she said. The whip stung his other shoulder this time, but he braced well; he did not flinch, other than the involuntary twitching of the muscles below the skin. He stilled, closing his eyes. “Slower. You speed up too much when you get excited.”

Slower. Slower. Damn it. Ivan touched his tongue to her again – slower – but pushed slightly harder this time, and was rewarded with a faint sigh; he checked the impulse to immediately repeat it, and tried a lighter touch first, then a firmer one. Donna’s divine thighs spread a bit farther apart, and Ivan could not tell whether it had been deliberate or unconscious.

He took a moment to consider his next motion: clearly, this was an indication that he should do something. He rolled his tongue around her clitoris, gaining no response, and tried it again. Nothing. Again.

“No,” she said. The whip stung, and Ivan let out a low groan, not of pain. Donna’s smile flashed. “Dear boy,” she purred. “If you want to earn your reward, you will have to do better than that. Read the cues.”

Ivan felt his penis throbbing almost painfully in his trousers, but he tried to ignore it. Light pressure. Firm pressure. Light pressure. Firm pressure. Firm pressure. Donna’s free hand slid through his hair and down to the back of his neck. She looked like a goddess, he thought, lounging back above him: as he watched, she lazily stroked the whip along the curve of one glorious breast.

Taking a chance, he dipped his chin slightly and stroked his tongue up between the folds of her labia. She forgot herself for an instant, letting out a little cry, and he followed up immediately, sliding two fingers deep inside her. Her hips rose to meet them, and he exulted inwardly to see the arch in her back. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed breathless.

He could feel the pressure of her, throbbing around his fingers, and his own throbbing increased as if to match it. It was an almost painful effort to maintain his slow pace, but he stayed motionless for an instant, then leaned in to catch her clitoris between his lips.

“Yes,” she whispered, and rocked against him. He pulled his fingers almost out and slowly pushed them in again. “Yes,” she whispered again, and he slid them out again and joined them with a third. In. “Yes.” She rocked up hard. He grazed her clit with his teeth this time, matching it to the rhythm of his thrusting hand, and her hand fisted in his hair.

Her head was tilted back against the pillow, and he could no longer see her face, only her pale throat, but her body was speaking for her. Ivan dropped a hand to fumble with his trousers, not interrupting his rhythm.

“No,” she said, and the whip flashed, harder this time, and Ivan felt the sting as a real blow. It hurt, and left a hot pain behind, but he did not care: he flinched only from her displeasure. “No,” she repeated. “No.” Her hips were still rocking against him, though, so he drove with his fingers, and suckled harder: his own hips rocked, unable to push against anything with more resistance than the seam of his trousers.

Donna was meeting him with more force now, and more speed. He could feel himself moving towards some kind of point of no return, and wondered distantly if the seam in his trousers might not be enough after all, when Donna suddenly pushed up hard. Ivan instantly stopped the rhythm and drove into her hard, and was rewarding by the pulsing spasms of her orgasm.

He could feel his own orgasm beckoning, just over that hill, and desperately yearned for it. His hips were still moving, almost without his conscious will, and he tried a cautious tap of his tongue to Donna’s clit again.

“No,” she said, but there was no tap of the whip this time, and no sharpness in her voice, only a shaky quality. She moved her hand to his forehead and guided him up. His fingers slid out of her, and he felt the urgency diminish a touch. “Take a minute,” she said. “Let yourself calm down.”

Ivan felt as far from calm as it was possible to be, but he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He ached. He throbbed.

Donna leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “You are doing very well, dear one,” she said quietly. “But you need to improve your self-control.” She stroked his shoulder with the whip, which prickled like a feather against his skin, and leaned back. “Shall we try again?”


End file.
